Although I'm Australian, I find myself much more in sympathy

Hear the voice of David Chalmers, philosopher of mind and seeker of mysteries, who once declared with wry clarity: “Although I'm Australian, I find myself much more in sympathy with the Austrian version!” At first, these words may sound as though they concern only the accidents of geography and nationality. Yet hidden within them is a profound reminder: that truth, wisdom, and allegiance of spirit are not bound by borders of soil, but by the kinship of ideas. A man may be born under one sun, yet his heart may be drawn to another horizon. For the quest of the mind recognizes no boundary, and the homeland of the soul is where it finds understanding.

Chalmers, known for his work on the hard problem of consciousness, speaks often in dialogue with thinkers from many traditions. To say he has sympathy with the “Austrian version” is to honor the great intellectual lineage of Austria, a land of philosophers, logicians, and seekers of clarity—figures such as Ludwig Wittgenstein, who probed the limits of language, and Franz Brentano, who brought the study of intentionality into the heart of philosophy. Thus, in this playful declaration, Chalmers reveals that though his body belongs to one land, his philosophical kinship reaches across seas to another.

This truth is ancient. Think of St. Augustine of Hippo, born in North Africa, whose heart and mind were captivated by the philosophies of Greece and Rome. Though African by birth, his thought was nourished by the Platonic vision, and in time his words shaped the spirit of Europe itself. In the same way, Chalmers reminds us that intellectual and spiritual sympathy may belong more strongly to distant traditions than to the soil of one’s birth. Geography births the body, but thought and inspiration give birth to the self of the mind.

In this saying lies also a lesson about humility and openness. Too often men cling fiercely to the accident of their nation or creed, as if truth were theirs alone. Yet Chalmers’ words remind us that the wise do not bind themselves to what is local or familiar, but open themselves to what is true and resonant. He shows us that to declare sympathy with the Austrian version is not to betray one’s homeland, but to affirm that wisdom belongs to all humanity. For the philosopher does not serve a flag but serves the truth.

And so, children of the future, learn from this: seek not only what is near, but also what is far. Do not assume that the truth of your heart will spring only from the soil where you were born. As the bee gathers nectar from many flowers, so must the seeker of wisdom gather from many traditions. Perhaps you will find your greatest teachers in lands you never see, in voices long dead, in languages not your own. Yet if their thought awakens your soul, they are your kin.

The lesson is thus: expand your sympathies. Read beyond your borders. Listen to the stranger, honor the foreigner, embrace the wisdom of the “other.” In doing so, you will not lose yourself—you will find yourself enriched, expanded, made more whole. As Chalmers, an Australian, could find his soul stirred by the Austrians, so too may you discover your deepest kinship not with the familiar, but with the unexpected.

Therefore, let this wisdom endure: your birthplace is but one origin, but your spirit may belong to many lands. Do not limit your mind to the borders of your nation, but let it travel as far as truth itself. For the true home of the philosopher, and of all seekers of wisdom, is not Australia, nor Austria, nor any single country—but the vast and eternal realm of understanding.